


Tolerate It

by Sam_Haine



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Awesome Sheriff Stilinski, Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Bottom Stiles Stilinski, Crying, Emotionally Hurt Stiles Stilinski, Heavy Angst, Hospitals, Hurt Stiles Stilinski, M/M, Making Up, Near Death Experiences, Protective Derek Hale, Protective Sheriff Stilinski, Sad Sheriff Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-16 14:28:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29083914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sam_Haine/pseuds/Sam_Haine
Summary: Stiles decides to leave town. It's better that he's gone, he's tired of ruining the lives of everyone around him.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 10
Kudos: 310





	Tolerate It

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Teen Wolf fic as I've just started the series. I'm a bit nervous to post but, alas here it is! Hope you enjoy.

Tolerate It 

Stiles hasn't been himself for the past three weeks. 

_Not that he'd expect anyone to actually notice,_ but, whatever. He's hardly been available for anyone to confront him about it. In class he remains silent and only talks when asked a question by a teacher, he replies to Scott with one or two words and a half-hearted smile, and ignores the jabs that the jocks make at him completely. He sits on the bench during practice quietly, barely paying attention to what's going on on the field, receiving harsh admonitions from Coach Finstock when he's caught spacing out. He's utterly grateful to Allison since Scott's been considerably distracted with her to worry about him. His friend's only asked him _"what's up?"_ like twice in three weeks, so, that's something. 

He likes being alone these days. Even the silence and lack of running his mouth hadn't affected him as much. His ADHD seemed to calm down too. He tried to look at that as a positive but some nagging voice in the back of his head reminded him that he'd been too messed up in the head with shame and grief that his body had somewhat momentarily counteracted the ADHD. It would only be a matter of time before it came back with a vengeance. And then he'd have to deal with that shit on top of all the other shit that was going on in his life. 

_I love you but- ...God you should've seen the way we were before you came around kid-_

His father's voice echoes in his head as he sits at his desk and he smacks the side of his head to silence the memory. It doesn't work. 

Not anymore, since he'd tried to convince himself that his father was just drunk and talking stupid. _That was three weeks ago._ Now, he's just accepting the tested theory that people were much more truthful under the influence of alcohol. His father was just being honest in that moment, bottle of Jack in his hand nearly empty of its liquid. Stiles should have just walked away and left the man alone that night- the night he got home from some party at the Sheriff's department. 

_"Let's dance sweetheart."_

_"Uh, no, Dad- Daddy you're drunk. C'mon let's get you to bed."_

_"M- ...not sleepy darlin, just wanna dance."_

_Stiles had laughed then, patting his Dad's shoulder. "You're shitfaced big guy, c'mon let's go, you can sleep it off from now until tomorrow."_

_"You do know what tomorrow is, don't you?"_

_And it's said with such clarity that Stiles has to do a double take to make sure his Dad's actually drunk and not just messing with him._

_He's not._

_His eyes are red-rimmed with tears and his face muscles are all pinched up and uncomfortable. His jaw is tight and clenched and he's grinding his teeth miserably. He looks so old and weathered in that moment, that Stiles just feels all of his energy drain from him. His Dad's bed is no longer an option so he halfheartedly leads the man over to the sofa in the living room. He plucks the bottle from his clenched fist and sets it on the floor._

_"I miss you so much baby," his Dad sobs, and Stiles feels his heart actually clench painfully in his chest._

_"It's okay Da-" he tries to say but his father lets out a soft grunt and shakes his head._

_"I don't know how to go on. I- I look at him sometimes and all I can see is your face. And how you were before we had him-"_

_"Dad-" Stiles interrupts quickly, not wanting to hear this, but his father continues._

_"We were so happy... sometimes I- I feel like I'm just waiting for the days to pass me by, till I get to be with you again. But every day that passes, I'm stuck here with this... this kid that I can't even- ...he's just so different. Not like me, or you. He's got your eyes but- it just feels like he stole them from you. You got sick y'know, after you had him. And- God-" he chokes off on another sob, curling up with his back to Stiles who is frozen in place._

_"D-Dad...?"_

_The man turns around and squints drunkenly at him. "Mieczyslaw... I, I love you but- ...God you should've seen the way we were before you came around kid. It used to feel like living..."_

_Stiles has a hand clamped over his mouth as his father turns his back on him and burrows further into unconsciousness._

_"Now I'm just... tolerating..."_

_Stiles cried himself to sleep that night... and every night after that._

He figures that by some irony, it was just poetic that his father would join the army of people in Stiles' life that just tolerated him. His mother was the only one he could remember, that loved him unconditionally. Scott, maybe, but that had changed now hadn't it? He'd moved on and was tolerating Stiles, just like everyone else. He was a pathetic human, even the pack he thought he'd been a part of had been forced to tolerate him because of his researching skills. Other than that, he wasn't of much use or necessity. And Derek? Derek hated his guts or was at least a little more than mildly annoyed by his mere presence. 

_So why was he calling the Alpha at ass o clock in the morning?_

He couldn't answer that question if he wanted to, so he just let it hang in the electrified airwaves as he waited for the ringing to stop. 

_"Stiles?"_ He sounds distracted and annoyed. 

"D- Derek? It's Stiles," he chokes, hating how broken he sounded. 

There's an expectant pause before Derek responds. "What?"

"Um-" but the words fail him and he bites down on his lip to hold off a pathetic sob. 

"Is it Scott? What's wrong?" Derek demands, his voice tinged with impatience. He grunts and Stiles hears the sound of a branch breaking. Most likely nightly wolf activities. 

"No- uh, Scott's fine," he answers dumbly, hoping his voice doesn't waver. 

Derek growls and there's another sound of something loud, like a collision or something. Stiles is too shaken up to analyse it all. 

"I just wanted to- ...can we talk?" he asks hopefully, wiping at his eyes. Tears are building up and pretty soon, they start to flow down his cheeks. 

Derek grunts over the line and snarls, another roar following it like some kind of echo. "I can't talk right now." 

There's a resounding click and suddenly he's gone, leaving Stiles staring out his window with the phone still pressed to his ear. He gently rests the offending device on his bedside table, sits on the floor by the window and finally lets the tears come. He bites his lip to prevent himself from making any pathetic sounds despite knowing that his Dad is working a double shift at the station tonight. He's just used to crying silently to himself. His entire chest hurts in a way it hasn't in a long time. Not since his mom died and the thought of her causes him to choke up. A wretched sob escapes his lips and he keels over onto his side, curling up right there on the floor. 

..................

The next day, Stiles is cheerful as ever, humming to himself as he cleans his room ambitiously. 

It's a Saturday, but his Dad's on another shift at the station. He's grateful for that, having not participated in a full conversation with the man since that fateful night. His Dad had tried however, without much success. He'd brought up _that night_ a few times, not quite remembering what he'd said and curious to know. He tries to reassure Stiles that he's done with drinking despite not knowing what exactly he'd said. From what Stiles had learned, his father was under the impression that he'd said some weird ass sexual shit to his son about his mother and Stiles, despite himself, had let the man run with that theory. 

It was easier than the stone cold truth. 

He's a little late to training at Derek's but no one seems to mind. They're all busy pouncing on each other and dashing in between the trees and branches, chasing each other like hyperactive kids on a playground. Derek's shirtless, growling at Jackson who looks a little weary and uncomfortable. Jackson's new to the whole werewolf thing, so training is usually a hellish experience for the Beta. Stiles finds some kind of comfort in the fact that he's not alone in his suffering during training, but then quickly reminds himself that Jackson at least, is still a werewolf. 

Erica swipes predatorily at him and he ducks just in the nick of time, her claws missing his back by less than an inch. He falls back on his ass with a small "oomph" and glares at Scott who's cackling his ass off. The boy offers his hand to Stiles and he takes it gratefully. 

"I'm actually impressed dude. Erica's usually good at ambushing her prey." 

Stiles shrugs, trying to be nonchalant. "Probably out of practice."

Scott grins, "Her funeral. Can you outrun me though?" 

Despite himself, Stiles can feel his insides become giddy with childish glee, excitement at the thought of mending bonds with a best friend. He loved Scott and had hoped that one day they would be able to hang out again like they used to. Training with him was a start. 

He runs off into the woods, not giving Scott a head start or even a notice as his feet try to avoid the thick, raised roots of massive forest trees sticking up from the earth. The boy curses behind him and he lets out a hearty laugh. It doesn't take long before the werewolf catches up with him, and takes him down with one swipe of the hand. Scott's claws just barely get him in the arm and he cries out as he falls hard to the floor. Scott's at his side in seconds. 

"Hey! You okay? Geez, I tripped and crashed into you." 

"It's fine-"

Stiles grunts as the others approach them, including a pissed off looking Derek. His green eyes burn red at the sight of blood trickling down from Stiles' hairline. 

"You need to be more careful," he grunts, roughly pulling Stiles to his feet. The human scowls at the Alpha and pointed at Scott. 

"It's his fault! He tripped and fell into me!" 

Scott looks sheepish as he nods along with Stiles' argument. "Yeah, chill dude. I'll be more careful next time."

Derek huffs impatiently at the young Alpha but seems otherwise satisfied with Scott's answer. Training resumes after that, Stiles sitting a good distance away from the action as he nurses his injuries. There's a large bruise just over the skin on his clavicle, but it's easily hidden by his flannel shirt. He's got scrapes and cuts all along his arms and the knee of his jeans is ripped from landing on a rock. The worst of the injuries is a two inch gash on his head, right in the hairline. It's still bleeding but he'd assured Derek and Scott that he'd take care of it. 

"I knew something smelled good."

Stiles startles and jumps up from his seat on a particularly overgrown tree root. Jackson materializes from behind some bushes, eyes pale blue and his teeth and claws out. Stiles takes a step back, hands out, as if to tell the boy to stay back. 

"Jackson-"

"You're bleeding," Jackson points out a little too earnestly and Stiles can see the hunger in his eyes. He was new to this and it didn't take a genius to realize that Jackson hadn't been able to control his bloodlust yet. Not that _that_ would have stopped Jackson from killing Stiles- he hated losers. He might as well have been a random werewolf stalking Stiles in the forest to eat him. That thought forces Stiles to pause, an idea taking root in his head. 

_What if he didn't fight?_

_What if he let Jackson have his fill?_

_A bite would turn him, but he was already wounded. The blood would only provoke Jackson to feed on him. Not just bite him._

_And would that be so bad?_

_He could have this nightmare over in minutes._

Would that be so bad? 

Clearly not, because Stiles could feel himself raise a hand, fingers disturbing the split flesh in his hair. They come away stained in thick red blood, the warm, coppery smell more pungent in the air. Jackson's nose twitches and he licks at his lips to taste the air. His fangs gleam and glisten at Stiles, who bravely takes a step forward. He touches the cut again and his fingers come away with more blood. 

"Yeah Sherlock," he mutters, sliding his fingers across his pale neck, blood staining him in thick, messy lines of red. "I'm a human blood bag, come get me."

Jackson frowns slightly, looking confused and desperate, like he's fighting some kind of inner battle. He's fighting his urge to kill and it makes Stiles impatient. If Jackson's gonna kill him, he doesn't want there to be any hesitation. 

"C'mon Jackson, bite me. Look, I'm bleeding. Don't you want some?" 

Jackson crouches, looking coiled tight like a spring ready to lunge forward. Stiles grins and takes a daring step forward. Jackson is about to pounce when an ear splitting howl echoes around them. Jackson immediately whines and runs off back to camp while Stiles is knocked on his ass roughly by Derek. He gasps as a strong hand grips him by the neck, fingers tightening the hold. He's slammed against a tree, fiery red eyes burning into his. 

"What the hell was that?" 

"Let- let go!" Stiles chokes, hands scrabbling against Derek's strong, corded forearms. He does, causing Stiles to collapse weakly into a pile among the tree roots. He hacks and wheezes, throat burning and throbbing from Derek's killer hold. 

"Why were you provoking him?" Derek snarls, eyes tinged with red. 

Stiles gapes, unable to hold the Alpha's glare so he looks down. "I wasn't-" 

"I heard you goading him on Stilinski. What the hell is wrong with you?" 

"I don't- I-" 

"He could've killed you!" Derek shouts and Stiles straightens up instantly, bottom lip quivering as the rest of the pack join in on the commotion. God, how embarrassing, he's being told off by Derek in front of them like an insolent kid. 

"Go home," Derek growls, voice low and threatening. 

"What?" Stiles rasps, lump in his throat. 

Derek takes a threatening step forward, fists clenched but Stiles could see his claws were out. Derek never takes out his claws even when he's pissed at Stiles. 

"I said, go home." 

Stiles feels his eyes sting with the new wetness of an oncoming cry and he quickly blinks it away. Scott stares at him, confused whilst holding a flustered Jackson who looks oddly apologetic. At the time, it seems like the entire pack is against him, none of them moving to say a word. Boyd does take a slow step forward to put a hand on Derek's shoulder. The Alpha growls but quickly sheathes his claws. 

"Get out of here," he orders with a hiss, turning his back to Stiles to lead his pack away from the clearing. 

Scott takes a step towards him but he hastily scrambles to his feet, tucks his figurative tail and runs. He finds his Jeep waiting obediently for him and doesn't hesitate to floor the accelerator. He needed to get away, needed to go home and... 

_I need to break free. Need to get out of here before I ruin something again. This isn't home anymore... and I've overstayed my welcome._

He gets home and runs to his room, tossing a bunch of clothes and other basic necessities into his backpack. He's glad his Dad's at work more than usual these days. Knows that he's the direct cause for that. He swipes angrily at the tears rolling down his cheeks, hating how weak and useless he feels. God, why did he even have to be born? His mom would still be alive and his dad would be happy. Wouldn't have to drink himself to sleep on the bad nights or have to worry about whatever shit Stiles was getting himself involved with behind his back. It was usually easy to pretend he was fine on most days, but now everything seemed to be crumbling down on top of him. 

He'd never kill himself... or at least after that whole debacle with Jackson. God, that was a cowardly thing to do; goading Jackson into hurting him. Derek had every right to hate him. Running away would be easier. He was certain no one would run after him, and they'd just let him go and enjoy the peace that followed in his absence. 

He hastily writes out a note to his father, at least giving the man some peace of mind when he comes home to an empty house. 

...................

Noah wasn't always a quiet or reserved man. No, that came after his wife had died and left him to suffer a wretched and lonely existence. 

He'd been so lost and broken in her absence, feeling as if his own heart had been surgically removed. She died and suddenly, all their plans and dreams had been put on hold. Their once perfect life dashed and void of all hope. His world lost all of its colour and became a gloomy tapestry of shades of grey. He never thought he'd get out of that hell, or be happy again like he once was. 

But he had Mieczyslaw. 

His adorable kid with big brown doe eyes and a smile wide enough to split his face. He was "little mischief" to her, always running about the house or the yard causing havoc, but it was always in good fun. Mischief was a curious, hyperactive kid, much unlike him or his wife, but they loved him anyway. He was the light in her eyes, perfect despite what the doctors said about ADHD. She didn't care what anyone said about her energetic, motor mouth of a son. He was her pride and joy and Noah couldn't have loved the kid more. He was a handful but Noah had loved every second of being that kid's Dad. 

Then she got sick. 

And their little world of sunshine and happiness became a ghost town. And Stiles couldn't manage his erratic behaviour enough to match his Dad's depression. So he channeled his boundless energy into doing things around the house that his mother would do. He'd cook and clean and get the groceries, decorate for holidays when his mom was too sick and had to stay in the hospital. He would hold the house together while his father wasted away at her bedside or on the couch, passed out with a bottle of liquor in hand. And Stiles was too young to bear the brunt of that kind of pressure but he never complained. He shouldered the hurt and the pain and the despair and still had a brilliant smile on his face. 

When she died, he'd shut himself in his room for a week while his Dad ran a rampage across the living room, tossing bottles and bawling out his grief. It scared Stiles but he understood that kind of agony from the books and articles he'd read online. Researching grief helped him to place his emotions in check for the sake of his Dad. He took care of the man, monitored his alcohol intake and managed his questionable diet. Most days he could keep it together enough for them to survive. And then Scott got bitten and that presented an opportunity for him to go out and be a stupid teenager again. 

But it also gave Noah the perfect opportunity to indulge in his poisons. And that had resulted in the drunken rantings he'd fallen victim to a couple weeks ago. 

God, he could barely remember the night but he was pretty sure he'd embarrassed himself in front of his kid. He could remember clearly seeing his wife, asking her to dance and calling her sweet names like he used to. He was so embarrassed at the thought of acting so inappropriately towards his son that he'd done his best to avoid him. He would take on double, sometimes triple shifts at the station, pretend to be asleep while Stiles was home and try to minimize the lengths of their breakfast or dinner conversations. 

But Stiles had been acting weird... well, weirder than usual. 

He looked deeply troubled, pale and was acting more erratic and crazy than the usual rodeo. Noah had secretly checked his meds but it turns out everything was normal in that department. It could have been girl problems but Scott had assured him that Stiles wasn't seeing anyone. He'd even asked the school if there were any bullying incidents he should be made aware of, but that had been a dead end. He hated not knowing what was going on with Stiles and he knew that Stiles had been lying about some things recently. Especially things involving Derek Hale and the string of bodies that had turned up shredded and maimed around town. He dreaded to think of his son being involved in those homicides but he didn't know what else to think. 

He'd planned to talk to Stiles when he got home, but those plans went out the window when he found a letter on his kid's bed. 

_Dad,_

_I'm sorry things ended up like this. I wish mom was here. She could make everything better. She would if she were still alive and I'm sorry that she's not. I'm sorry for everything that I've done. By the time you get this letter, I'll probably be in Barstow or some weird town. Please don't think that this is because of you. I needed to leave. It would be better for everyone if I left. I love you._

_Stiles_

He drops to his knees, sobbing as the letter becomes crumpled in his clenched hands. Emotions of confusion and hurt and loneliness course through him and he has to force himself to calm down before he triggers a goddamn heart attack. With shaky hands, he calls the station and informs his deputy to put out an APB on the Jeep, because it's missing and he's pretty sure Stiles was attached to it biologically. There was no way he'd leave without it. 

"Where is Stiles?" 

He pulls his gun out, pointing it right at the intruder who seemed to suddenly appear in his son's bedroom. 

Derek Hale. 

An uncharacteristic bitterness bubbles up from his throat and he growls at the leather-clad loner that his son seemed to have an attachment to. 

"Hale, what did you do to my boy?" 

A look of pure confusion flits across Derek's stony face but then he glances down at the letter in the Sheriff's hand. 

"What does the letter say?" 

Noah scoffs, "Like I'd tell you. He's been hanging out with you a lot. Did you drag him into some kind of sick gang?" 

The accusation would be hilarious if Stiles weren't actually missing so Derek raises his hands in surrender. "I was exonerated and I had nothing to do with those murders. My only concern right now is Stiles." 

"He was with you last, wasn't he? Told me he and Scott were going to visit. Where's Scott?" 

"Scott's with his girlfriend, Sheriff." Derek answers evenly. 

Noah's phone rings and he answers it, gun still aimed at Derek who listens in on the call. 

_"We issued the APB Sheriff, he can't have gone far. We'll call as soon as we get eyes on the Jeep."_

"Thank you." 

"He left?" Derek asks just as Noah hangs up the call. He can tell that Stiles' absence is rattling Derek as well, because he looks lost. Sighing heavily, the Sheriff hands over Stiles' letter, eyes stinging again as he watches Derek read the troubled words with shaky breaths. The raven haired man struggles not to crumple the letter in his hand as he looks up at the Sheriff. 

"I should- ...I should've been there. For him." 

Noah frowns. "What do you know about this?" 

"I- he wanted to talk a couple days ago. I didn't have the time. I hung up on him." 

Noah swallows the foreboding lump in his throat. "Did he say what he wanted to talk about?" 

Derek shakes his head. "No but I- I should've listened. And then I yel- ...God, Stiles," he mutters to himself, sorrow and regret washing over him. 

Noah lowers the gun and replaces it in the holster. "This is my fault," he says, shaking his head in grief. "I got drunk a couple weeks ago. Acted like a total asshole and Stiles hasn't been the same after that. I just swept it under the rug and assumed it would go away. But, I must've said something. Something that hurt him. God, it was like he couldn't look me in the eye after that night. It must've been something about her." 

"Her?" Derek frowns, blinking as he hears the irregular beating of the Sheriff's heart. He could tell the man was working himself up into a panic, or a heart attack. Stiles would never forgive him if he let anything happen to his Dad. 

"His mother," the Sheriff answers, clutching at his chest. Derek quickly helps him to sit down on the edge of Stiles' bed. 

"Calm down Sheriff, you're no use to Stiles like this. I'll find him. Give me till nightfall."

"I've already put out the-"

"It doesn't matter. I'm going to fi-"

Derek is cut off by the ring of Noah's phone which he answers almost immediately.

 _"Sheriff, we found the Jeep... there's been an accident."_

.........................

The forest flies past him in a blur of bright greens and yellows, partly because of the speed he's clocking and partly because there are still tears in his eyes. 

He's fought supernatural creatures and dealt with werewolves and murderers, but _this_ is the hardest thing he's ever had to do. His chest constricts painfully at the thought of his Dad reading the letter and the initial stages of hurt and confusion he'd go through. He thinks of how abandoned Scott would feel when he gets the news. Of how mildly curious Derek would be when Scott tells him. 

But then he thinks at the relief his absence would bring everyone. 

How Scott wouldn't have to feel the pressure of having to deal with an overzealous best friend. And how Derek wouldn't have to deal with his stupid mouth and his spastic energy. And most of all, how his father would finally be free. Liberated to enjoy his life in peace without having to deal with his hyperactive, piss-poor excuse of a son. It would be like he'd never had one and his life would be a little happier without Stiles in it. 

He wipes furiously at his face, the Jeep jerking violently at a bump in the road. It rattles him a little but he ignores it, and presses on. He could slow down once he was out of own, way past the border of Beacon hills. His phone rings and he fishes it out of his pocket, frowning at the name glowing back at him. 

_Derek._

A thrill rushes down his body and he bites his lip. What the hell could Derek possibly want to talk to him about after that mishap during training? Probably to tell him that he was officially out of the pack, like he didn't already know that. He rolls his eyes and moves his thumb to answer but it slips out of his precarious grasp, thumping against the foot well. 

"Fuck!" he hisses, glancing warily at the road before reaching down for it. He almost has it but then the damning sound of a horn distracts him and he looks up to see an eighteen wheeler headed straight at him. His life doesn't flash before his eyes in that moment, the way everyone says it does. He just hears himself scream on horror and he swerves hard left to avoid a head on collision. 

He misses the truck by inches, heart in his throat as he takes gulping breaths to hopefully stave off the inevitable panic attack. 

It doesn't last long before he's veering off the road and into the forest where he knows a patchy, half-cliff is waiting for him. It's not the highest point in Beacon hills but it's pretty steep and Stiles is unable to stop the Jeep from being pulled down by sheer gravity. The windshield cracks, spider fractures dancing across the clear glass. A giant oak tree looms ahead like impending death and he feels his chest deflate as realization hits him. 

_I'm about to die._

Sharp and unforgiving branches claw through the shattering windshield and he raises a hand to block his face reflexively. 

Everything goes black. 

....................

_"Satellite imagery from forty two seconds ago showed the Jeep just off the road and halfway down Briar's Cliff. We've dispatched units to the scene and the EHS."_

Derek hears the Sheriff's agonizing cries even as he's miles away from the Stilinksi home. 

As soon as Noah had gotten the dreadful call, Derek had tore off like a bat out of hell, nothing but Stiles on his mind. He'd wolfed out, claws tearing at the forest floor as he weaves in and out of tree trunks, vines and splinters scratching pale skin as he moves. He listens for Stiles' erratic heartbeat while his own heart is hammering against his own ribcage. Something like bile bubbles in the back of his throat and he knows that it's the guilt eating at him from the inside. He should've been there for Stiles- should've listened to what he had to say. Stiles had never outright denied him help- had only just joked sarcastically about it but he was _always_ there when Derek needed him. 

And what did Derek do? 

Left him hung up on the line, and chased him off after the Jackson incident- instead of talking to him. He'd felt the pain rolling off Stiles in waves when he'd snarled at him, told him to get out. A tortured howl escapes his jaws and he gives into the pain. The pack needed to be there for Stiles, he was pretty sure he could hear them following close behind. But all his senses stutter at the smell of fresh blood and smoke. 

_Stiles!_

Another howl joins in behind him and he knows it's Scott. Stiles was like a brother to the young Alpha- Derek could imagine the torture he was going through at the smell of Stiles' blood. He shoves his own morbid thoughts out of the way in favour of focusing on the familiar Robin's egg blue just ahead amongst the green of the forest. His heart stops when he finally gets there, muscles bunching tightly as he bounds down the cliff tactically. The smell of blood and smoke grows stronger along with his panic. 

The front of the Jeep is partially smashed in, windshield shattered with broken remnants of glass hanging off the frame. Dark blood stains the dash and everything after it. There's a body in the driver's seat, still held in place by a stained seatbelt. Derek hears the screams and cries from his pack, but they're all muffled and warped compared to the sound of blood rushing in his ears. The dark, brunette hair is definitely Stiles and that blue and green plaid flannel shirt is so familiar to Derek that he feels almost as if it belonged to him. 

_"Stiles!"_

_"Oh my God-!"_

_"Is he dead?"_

_"Isaac shut up."_

_"No- h- he can't be!"_

Stiles is slumped forward, head hanging forward, fragile body held in place by the sharp branch of a tree that's pinned him to his seat. The branch has pierced the left side of his chest, just shy of where his heart would be. Derek almost sobs from the sight, green eyes following the edge of the branch where it's sticking out the backrest of Stiles' seat, stained blood red and dripping steadily. 

_But there's a heartbeat._

"He's not dead," he grits out, blinking past the tears he didn't know were slowly making their way down his cheek. 

"We gotta move him." Isaac whispers, voice shaking like he's traumatized. Scott pets him gently for comfort and nods. 

"I wouldn't suggest moving the branch though," Boyd interrupts and Derek nods along with him. 

"He'll bleed out if we do." 

"Just break the branch enough so that he isn't pinned to the Jeep." Erica states, eyes trained on the pale body, shaken. Derek nods and gets to work with Scott and Boyd. He elects to stay with the boy, to hold him so that when they break the branch, he doesn't fall out of the vehicle and worsen his wounds. There's a trickle of red dripping down his chin from the corner of his lips and it scares Derek to no end. He whines low in his throat and gently cradles Stiles' cheek, trying to rouse him. Dark lashes flutter against chalky white but bloodstained cheeks, and Derek's heart lurches in its cage. 

"D- Derek-" he chokes, more blood spilling past his lips, making them ruby red. 

"Shh, don't talk. It's gonna be okay Stiles, I promise," Derek whispers, cradling the teen closer. Boyd claws out the first piece of branch, causing the entire Jeep to lurch a bit, applying pressure on Stiles' chest. The brunette cries out weakly, eyes opening slowly, brows frowning at the sight of his mangled chest. He tries to move but the motion results in a lancing pain across his entire upper body and his left arm. Glancing down, he sees that its covered in blood and bent at a weird angle that shouldn't be possible but is. He makes out something white sticking into his wrist and tries to pick at it. White hot agony rips through his arm when he pulls it and Derek has to quickly hold his hand and gently pull it away. 

"Don't pull it, that's- ...it's bone." 

He sobs and asks Derek, "Am I dead?" 

The wolf shakes his head fervently and runs a comforting thumb across the boy's bruised knuckles. "No. No you're not. You're gonna be fine, okay?"

"Doesn't- ..." he coughs and then continues, "doesn't feel like it." 

Derek drops his gaze, head hanging hopelessly while he clings to Stiles as if _he_ was the one who needed saving. This is the weakest he's ever felt in a while and he knows the feeling of total and abject loss because he'd went through it twice already. First with his parents and then with his sister. And it had been the most painful things he'd ever been through. He couldn't do it again- he wouldn't! God, but now he feels Stiles closing delicate fingers around his, holding on to him for literal dear life and it brings him back. He presses his nose into the boy's hairline and whines. 

"Hold on please. For me. For your Dad." 

Stiles sobs and coughs up more blood. "Pl- ...please tell him I'm sorry. Derek please-" 

Derek shakes his head adamantly, "No, you're gonna tell him yourself. I'm not- m'not gonna let you die." 

"Promise me because I can't-" Stiles groans mournfully as the branch moves again. Fresh tears wet his face and he lets out a weak chuckle. It's anything but happy. 

"C'mon sourwolf, promise me." 

Derek growls low in his throat and glares at him. "Don't you dare give up. Or I'll give you the bite and you'll turn into a sourwolf, just like me." 

Stiles gives him the best smile at that and Derek's heart throbs at how beautiful he looks like that, stained in his own blood and all. 

"You do that and I'll hate you forever." 

Derek huffs and shakes his head. "I'd rather you hate me than the alternative. I'm not letting you die." 

Stiles shakes his head and his eyes fall shut. "Thought you hated me." 

"I never hated you Stiles. I was just tryin-" 

Stiles cuts him off and continues as if he hadn't heard Derek speaking. "Now... it feels like I can see everything. Unless I'm dreaming but you do seem awfully concerned about me." 

His voice takes on a dreamy, almost high tone and Derek feels dread fill his gut. Stiles was fading, fast. He firmly slaps the boy's cheek to rouse him again. 

"That kinda... hurt..." 

"I'm sorry."

"It's out," Boyd announces, eyes gazing at Stiles pitifully. Scott comes from around the other side of the Jeep and pets Stiles' head gently. 

"The ambulance is getting closer. You're gonna be fine."

Pretty amber eyes glisten at Scott's face and Derek only moves an inch to give them some semblance of space. No way in hell was he letting go of Stiles' hand ever. 

"Scotty?" Stiles whimpers, voice sounding so much like a frightened toddler that it shakes Derek to his core. God, he would give anything in the world to trade places with the teen. 

Scott sobs and nods with a strained smile. "I'm here Stiles. We're all here." 

Stiles nods slightly, eyes fluttering shut again. "Tell my Dad it wasn't his fault 'kay? Please... Derek- Derek's not gonna do it-" 

Derek bows his head and squeezes Stiles' fingers gently. "That's cos you're gonna do it yourself. When you get out of here." 

Scott smiles down at his best friend. "He's right. You're gonna make it out of this, I know you." 

"Hey Scotty?" 

"Yeah?" 

"I... I think Derek likes me." Stiles chuckles softly, licking at the blood coating his tongue and the insides of his mouth. Derek huffs but wears a brilliant grin on his face. 

"Really?" Scott indulges, petting Stiles a little harder so that he'd stay conscious as the ambulance pulls up and cuts off its siren. 

_"Hey Scotty!_

_Scott grins again, waiting to hear another one of Stiles' jokes. "Yeah Stiles?"_

_"I- ...I think I see my Mom!"_

_The colour drains from Scott's face and he turns around to see Derek frozen, completely horrified._

_Everything moves in slow motion then._

........................

Noah feels as if he's back in that oh-so-familiar nightmare. 

The harsh white light shines down on him, burning his eyes that are already sore from being up all night. The pungent smell of chemicals fills his nose and turns his stomach. He's _been_ a prisoner in this very hospital before. Had sat in these very uncomfortable, plastic chairs and had fallen asleep in several painful positions before. He'd had nurses reporting to him every four to six hours or so with updates on how the surgery and treatment were going. None of this is new to him. But it still makes him feel sick. His hands still shake uncontrollably and his chest constricts as if his heart's in a vice grip. 

"Sheriff," Derek murmurs, offering the man a cup of coffee from the machine. He takes it and offers up a weak grunt of gratitude. They sit in awkward silence for some time, Derek listening to the unsteady beat of the man's heart whilst hearing his own and about a hundred others because well, _hospital._

"Y'know, things weren't always sunshine and rainbows for Mieczyslaw," the Sheriff suddenly rumbles, gazing into the distance down the hall where the surgery room is. Derek digests the sound of Stiles' real name and feels the corner of his lips turn up. Stiles was a complicated one, it figures he'd have a name that was just as confusing. 

"After my wife died, he picked up the slack. Would always be there to pick up the broken pieces, hell, he even offered to fix them... as best as he could anyway. He was only eight at the time and he didn't deserve to go through Claudia's death. He didn't deserve to suffer the way he did. He deserved a father who could help him pick up the slack and be there for him when he needed me. But I ran, like a coward. And even then, he didn't mind. He'd take care of my miserable ass, and then tuck me in on the couch with a hug and a kiss on my head. Would tell me that everything would be better in the morning and if it wasn't, then it was my own fault for being a dumbass." 

The last few words are muttered with a haunted kind of humor but Derek scoffs softly in amusement anyway, because that sounds exactly like Stiles. 

Always putting himself last. 

Always fixing others instead of looking out for himself. 

Never selfish with his time, always ready to give his best. 

"He's a brave kid. Strong-minded and generous." he starts, unused to being so casual with Stiles' Dad.

"You have a chance to make things right with him. We both do. I'm trying not to spend my time dredging up the bitter past. You should too. Stop beating up yourself about things that happened already. It's only going to make things worse. Stiles needs you, more than ever right now."

By some miracle, Noah nods and considers the now-cold cup of coffee in his hands. "He's been alone for too long. He needs all of us." Then after a beat, "You care for him, don't you?" 

Derek glances up at the man and tries not to look guilty. Then he sighs in defeat and nods with certainty. 

"I do." 

The Sheriff smiles warily. "He needs you too, y'know." 

Derek rests on those words for the duration of the night, so much so that he's thinking about all the ways he could help Stiles while the Sheriff snores quietly next to him. 

.........................

He's driving fast, the trees of the forest zooming past him in a blur of green and brown. The wind is whipping at his face, cold and crisp with an earthy scent to it. Deep within his mind he knows he's going too fast, knows that the road is a dangerous one and that it should make him feel sick inside. But somehow, it seems near impossible to take his foot off the gas. Like it's stuck to the metal. And his hands are glued to the wheel, turning of its own volition. He hears the blaring of a horn, the telltale rumble of the asphalt that signals an oncoming eighteen wheeler- 

_Why did he automatically think it was an eighteen wheeler?_

And then suddenly it appears, vast and looming in the distance like some great beast. His heart drops into the lonely pit of his stomach and he's frozen.

 _Fuck it's headed straight for me. I'm gonna die!_

*************

He's pretty sure the panicked and mournful sob he hears when his eyes force open is his own. He blinks a few times to acquire his bearings, a little surprised to feel wetness clinging to his lashes. 

_Was he crying?_

He can hear the soft beeping of a monitor to his side and- 

_....oh._

Derek Hale is sitting at his bedside, perched on a chair like an animal ready to strike. His grey green eyes are wide and a bit glassy and his brows are shaking slightly. He looks as if he's panicking, eyes glancing to the heart monitor warily. 

"Hey sourwolf," Stiles rasps, his voice sounding like sandpaper rubbing together. 

"You're awake," Derek responds almost immediately. He's up on his feet in seconds, moving closer to the fragile human boy. He reaches a hand out to touch, not sure what he's feeling for but a sense of ease rests deep in his bones and under his skin when his fingertips brush Stiles' flesh. He shudders and cups the boy's face, thumb stroking the underside of his jaw. Stiles freezes under the warm contact and blinks up at Derek with big, sad eyes. 

"Shh, it's okay, I'm here," he whispers as tears start to fall from those very eyes. 

"Hurts," Stiles whimpers quietly, a tentative hand reaching out to hold on to Derek's wrist. 

The Alpha panics for a second before he realizes that Stiles is just waking up to the feeling of his broken body. He must be sore and in agony. He quickly re-adjusts the boy's morphine dosage, ups it a little and can immediately see the peace wash across his face. His heart is beating at a slower than usual pace but Derek can tell that it's normal. He pets through Stiles' hair and brushes a thumb just under his eye, wiping away stray tears. 

"Did- ...where's my Dad? Does he know?" he whispers tearfully, biting at his cut lip. 

Derek nods, hands dropping from the boy's face. He quietly notes the way Stiles keeps holding on to his fingers though. He lets him, figuring that any kind of solid contact would be good for the traumatized kid. A soft whine vibrates from the boy's throat and he drops his hold on Derek's finger, burying his face in his hands. He sobs quietly, and Derek can feel the shame and anger rolling off him in waves. His chest rumbles and he holds Stiles close again, cradling his head in his hands. 

"Everything's fine Stiles. We're- ...you don't have anything to be afraid or _ashamed_ of." 

The brunette pulls away from his hands and fixes him with a glare. "I'm not," he growls defensively. 

Derek sighs and takes up residence on the bed next to Stiles. "I can feel you... your pain and- and your _guilt._ "

 _"And?"_ Stiles spits, irritated. 

"And it's not unwarranted. I'll be the first to admit that I've been treating you like crap lately. I just-"

 _"You were so mad."_ Stiles whispers, sounding mournful and haunted. Derek exhales slowly and reaches out a hesitant hand. He breathes in relief when the boy doesn't pull away. A thumb wiped gently over the boy's cut brow. 

"I- ...I'm not the best with words, but perhaps that's been more of a liability to me than an asset. I was mad that day in the clearing because- you could've been seriously hurt Stiles. Jackson is powerful, even if he's new to all of this. He could've hurt you. Or _worse..._ " 

Stiles sniffs and rolls his eyes, "Yeah but why do you care?" 

Derek curses under his breath and shakes his head. "I'll admit I don't show my emotions as clearly as normal people do, but you've gotta be blind to think that I don't care about you Stiles. Why do you think I'm always crashing through your window?" 

Stiles frowns, nose turning up cutely. "I thought you needed me to do research."

Derek sighs, swiping a hand down his face. "That may or may not have been a ruse..."

The brunette is looking at him curiously now, a sparkle in his amber eyes. And if Derek had been a regular human being, he would've missed the light blush adorning the teen's face, but with his eyesight, he was able to make out the hint of peach under the pallor. 

"You-" Stiles starts, but then freezes as the door swings open to reveal a haggard-looking Sheriff. 

"Hey Derek I-" 

The man pauses, like a child caught doing something mischievous. He looks older, Stiles thinks, eyes tracing over the deep lines of worry etched into the man's face. His mouth is hanging slightly open, blue eyes almost empty and haunted. He's dressed in dirty blue jeans and a blue and green plaid button down shirt. Derek can smell the dirt on the man's shoes, and the dead leaves that he probably brushed off his sleeves when he left the cemetery. It's a scent he's become familiar with after his own gratuitous visits to his family's graves. 

"Stiles," Noah exhales, breathless as he takes a tentative step into the room. 

Derek guiltily moves his hand from cradling Stiles' face, sliding off the bed and grunting in acknowledgment. "Sheriff." 

Stiles blinks away his tears and looks out the window, ashamed. Derek's heart clenches up in his chest, but he knows Noah deserves the privacy with his son. He can hear Stiles' heart beating faster, like he's about to panic. 

"I'm gonna go check on the rest of the pack," he mutters, but not before turning back to Stiles and pressing a light kiss to the boy's forehead. Stiles whimpers but nods resolutely at him. The Sheriff was just gonna have to deal with Derek's seemingly newfound feelings for his son. 

***

The room is filled with awkward silence the minute Derek exits. The only sound between them is the squeaking of metal on stone as Noah brings the chair up to his son's bedside. Stiles tries to be inconspicuous about wiping away tears but his Dad's the Sheriff for a reason. And he doesn't take it too well. 

He breaks down at once, face buried in his palms as he tries and fails to reign in his emotions. Stiles can feel his heart break all over again and reaches out to grab his father's wrist. 

"Dad- Daddy please, I'm sorry. I'm _so, so sorry_ for what I did." 

Noah wrenches his face from his palms to frown at his son. "No. _Don't._ I'm the one who should be apologising son. _I'm_ the one that failed you. I should've been better-"

But Stiles shakes his head vehemently, _"Don't say that-"_

"It's true Stiles. I should've been a better father to you. _God, if Claudia were here, she'd kill me."_

"Dad..." Stiles says weakly but the Sheriff shakes his head, holding both of Stiles' hands in his and clutching them to his chest. 

"I love you Stiles. How could I not? You're my little boy," Noah cries, "Y'know, you were your mother's little 'mischief'... but you were always my little boy."

Stiles bites his cut lip and winces at the pain but ignores it in favour of shaking his head- trying to denounce his father's words. 

"I love you so much Stiles and it wasn't fair what I did. The weight I put on your shoulders. You didn't deserve any of it."

_"Daddy you don't have to ap-"_

"I should've been there for you when she died- should've- should've held you more, and told you I loved you every day. But instead I drank myself to sleep and made you pick up the slack. I wasn't there..." 

Stiles shakes his head, sobbing as Noah pulls him into a warm embrace, head against the man's broad chest. It's a place he hasn't been to in years. "There's no perfect way to deal with grief Dad. Just like there aren't any perfect parents... or kids. I just thought I was making things worse."

"You could never," Noah whispers into his hair, holding him tight. "You could never make something worse baby boy. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me and your mother and I'm sorry I made you feel that way."

Stiles lets go of his bravado then, breaking down into gut wrenching cries that make his wounds lance painfully but his emotions override any kind of physical hurt. Noah holds him and cradles him until he eventually passes out, curled up against his Dad's chest. He thanks the Gods for giving him a second chance to make things right with his son. 

.....................

Derek returns two days after, in a fresh pair of black jeans and a white t-shirt. He notices the positive change in the boy's demeanour and rumbles appreciatively at the healthy colour that's returned to his face. His heart flutters fondly in his chest at the sight of the teen colouring laboriously on a page, pink tongue peeking out from between his plush lips. 

"Your Dad's at the house, preparing your room," he informs as a way of announcing his presence in the room since Stiles seems so engrossed in his... activity. 

"And you're my ride?" Stiles asks cheekily, but also half hopeful that Derek was taking him home. They had some unfinished business to talk about... 

Derek nods, sitting beside him and peering over his shoulder. "Colouring?" 

Stiles grins sheepishly and nods, "Isaac brought it for me. Said he knows I love puppies and this was the best one at the bookstore." 

Derek stares at the elementary colouring book about all kinds of puppies and shakes his head, grinning. "When I say 'you're all children,' you know I don't mean that literally right?" 

Stiles swats at his thigh and continues colouring his baby rottweiler, happily humming to himself. "Isaac's gift was well thought out. I love it. And besides, it's been keeping me occupied since I've been off Adderall for a while now." 

Derek grows somber and presses a soft kiss to Stiles' neck, growling appreciatively when the colouring stops. "I can keep you occupied with another activity." 

Stiles blushes hard and looks back at him, amber eyes blown wide. "Derek..." he moans, trying to go for a kiss but the older man pulls away. 

"When you get better."

"You're literally the worst," Stiles gripes, sighing as Derek runs a perceptive palm over his chest. 

"You're on the mend," he whispers into the boy's ear. "I don't want to rush anything."

"My ass! You've gotta give me something! Especially now that I know you've been secretly into me for a while." 

Derek smirks and wraps Stiles up in his arms, practically purring at the way Stiles cuddles up into him. "You're not gonna let that one go any time soon, are you?" 

"Nope. And you can't take it back!" Stiles threatens cutely. 

"I'm not planning to," Derek murmurs, placing sweet, gentle kisses at the boy's temple. "Not ever." 

Stiles smiles quietly to himself, feeling the final traces of pain leave his body.

**Author's Note:**

> P.S. I actually LOVE Sheriff Stilinksi and it hurt me to even write this because I know, from what I've seen of the character, that he loves his son. But, for the sake of an angsty storyline, I wrote this. 
> 
> Anyway, hope u enjoyed!


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